A Few New Recruits
by RainChild1
Summary: Umbrella has decided to interrogate friends of the surviving S.T.A.R.S.-- an interrogation ending in murder. The S.T.A.R.S. move in to save their friends, and recruit them for the fight against Umbrella. R & R PLEASE!!! PRETTY PLEASE!
1. Prologue

A Few New Recruits 

Rating:  PG-13, may be switched to R later

Disclaimers:  I don't own Resident Evil or anything else in my stories with a copyright.

Author's Notes:  This idea popped into my head at 4:28 in the morning, after I abandoned all thought of sleeping before my 9:20 a.m. class.  It's about a few… friends of the survivors from the games, namely the S.T.A.R.S., Leon, and Carlos (I haven't gotten to play anything not on PS1 or DreamCast; damn poverty!).

Prologue

            The glow of the computer monitor was the only light shining in the cramped apartment on the outskirts of Paris.  Leon S. Kennedy sat before the computer screen, wearing a white tank T-shirt and dark blue boxers, tiredly brushing his dark blond hair from his eyes as he sipped his coffee, surfing the Internet.

            The Internet had always been a favorite pastime of Leon's, and it had become a useful tool since his time in Raccoon City, fighting both Umbrella and severe boredom.  At the moment, however, it was providing him with nothing interesting, much to his irritation.  If he couldn't sleep, he wanted to at least do something fun.

            Bored, he typed a web address for a page about an area in the Arklay Mountains.  He rarely looked in on Arklay any more, as it tended to induce feelings of anger and homesickness.  Still, there wasn't much happening in France at three in the morning, and when his mind wandered, it usually went back to his parents and his friends in the area…

            Leon suddenly sat bolt upright, his eye having caught on a news article at the bottom of the page.  "Former Raccoon City Teacher Survives Vicious Attack," he muttered allowed.  "Morgan Watkins… that name…"

            It didn't take long for him to place.  Sherry Birken, the little girl he and Claire Redfield had helped rescue from Raccoon City, had talked about a teacher named Miss Watkins, who told them to call her Morgan.  She had been Sherry's favorite teacher.

            It wasn't Morgan Watkins, or the title of the article, that had attracted his attention, however.  It was the words "Umbrella, Inc."

            Leon double-clicked the link to the full-length article and quickly scanned it.  The police had been called to investigate a noise disturbance made by the frantic barking of Watkins's dog.  When they arrived, they found out Watkins was being beaten to death inside her home and the two officers forced the door open.  The assailants fled, shooting one of the cops in the leg and the other in the collar bone.  Watkins was now alleging that her attackers were demanding information on the whereabouts of Sherry Birken, a former student thought to have perished in the destruction of Raccoon City…

            Leon's mind was reeling.  He had hoped Umbrella would never find out Sherry was still alive.  Numerous people had seen Sherry, but he hadn't thought anyone would have recognized her or overheard her name.  Umbrella obviously knew; you didn't send people to rough up and maybe kill someone's favorite teacher if you thought the girl was dead.  What was Umbrella doing?  Why would they care if the kid was still alive?  How much could she know if her parents and all their work had been taken out by a nuclear warhead?  Had they connected her to—?  
            _Claire._

            _"Shit,"_ Leon exclaimed.  That had to be it.  They knew Claire was still alive, and now they wanted to find her and her brother.  Probably the rest of them, too.  If they knew the daughter of William and Annette Birken had escaped Raccoon City's destruction with Claire…

            "The Rockfort incident," a voice behind Leon whispered, making him jump.

            Leon spun, his hand automatically moving from the computer mouse to the H & K VP70, his nine-millimeter handgun, beside it.

            Chris Redfield stood behind him, staring over his shoulder at the computer screen.  He didn't even glance down at Leon, who relaxed and set the gun back down gently.  "You couldn't sleep either," Leon said.  It wasn't a question.  Seven people lived in this cramped two-bedroom apartment—Barry Burton, Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliviera, Rebecca Chambers, Chris, Leon and Claire—and on any given night, at least one of them couldn't sleep or woke up screaming.  Usually, considering her recent ordeal at Rockfort Island, it was Claire who woke up screaming the most, but today she had slept soundly and Leon had thought himself the only one awake.

            Chris didn't answer Leon's observation.  "They know Claire made it out, then," Chris said dully.  "They know she and I are still alive.  Which I figured, considering Wesker—" Chris nearly spat the word— "made it out of that hell hole too.  Apparently Umbrella wants revenge a bit more than I figured they would."

            Leon swallowed, staring up at the bland expression on Chris's face.  "Maybe they just want to find the G-Virus.  Or Sherry," he said, trying to put a hopeful note into his voice.

            Chris laughed bitterly.  "Don't try to make me feel better, man, especially not with that line," he said ruefully.  "Sherry is staying with Barry's family.  If they caught her, they'd catch us all eventually.  Barry's wife probably knows a few things, and I don't know if I could stop Barry from repossessing his wife and kids should anything happen to them."  He sighed.  "I'm not sure I'd want to stop him, anyway."

            Leon nodded.  He hadn't really thought about the phrase before he'd said it.  Leon rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily.  "So.  What do we do, Fearless Leader?"

            Chris sighed.  "Do some more research.  In half an hour, I want enough to wake everyone up, get it?"


	2. Claire's Decision

Chapter One

Claire's Decision

            Rebecca was the last to stumble into the living room, wearing black silk pajamas with red roses on them, her shoulder holster on backwards, sporting a pair of M911 handguns.  Carlos sat in a large armchair wearing only a pair of jeans, his hair un-brushed.  His girlfriend, Jill, was nestled beside him, resting her sleepy head on his bare shoulder, shivering in her thin pajama shorts and top.  Claire seemed wide-awake, her arms folded over the chest of an old Detroit Lions jersey, her features set in an unreadable mask.  Leon had gone to the kitchen and gotten leftover pizza, which he was currently eating cold, reminding the others of nothing so much as a teen spy in a pathetic movie.  Barry stood off by himself, staring out the window, rubbing at his scruffy reddish beard, no doubt missing his family terribly.

            Chris finally came back out of the bedroom.  He had a few papers in his hands:  freshly-printed articles on assaults in the Raccoon City area.  "What's this all about, Chris?" Jill mumbled, her eyes half-lidded.

            "I'll give you three guesses," muttered Claire.

            Rebecca groaned.  "Umbrella, eh?"

            "No," Leon joked, "it's about a recipe for chop suey.  Yes, Umbrella."

            "They're after our friends and family," Chris said flatly.

            _"What!?" _Barry bellowed, jumping to his feet.  Claire's eyes widened.  Rebecca sat up straight.

            "Sherry's old teacher was attacked," Chris continued wearily.  "Rebecca's parents—"

            "Are they okay?" she interrupted, looking mortified.

            "Yes," Leon assured her.  "I just… borrowed a few police files.  They filed something about a suspicious character.  Talked to both of your parents and your kid brother about you.  They said they hadn't heard from you since June, but the person seemed pretty interested in what you were up to.  Didn't give a name.  Or a purpose.  The day after he called your father at work and visited your mother at home and got nothing, he showed up at your brother's playground during recess, asking about you."

            "Holy shit," she whispered.

            "It's circumstantial evidence, but—"

            Claire interrupted Chris dismally.  "That's all you can get on Umbrella, unfortunately."

            "So what are you going to do about it?" Carlos asked.

            "What do you mean, 'what are _you_ going to do about it?'" Claire demanded sharply.  "It affects you, too."

            "Hey, no offense, girl.  You know I'm in this to the end," Carlos said indignantly.  "I'll help with whatever you decide to do.  But I don't have anyone to look out for, and even if I did, Umbrella probably thinks I'm a pancake, if they even remember me."

            "What about your family?" Rebecca asked softly.

            "Dead," Carlos replied, his tone flat.  "All of 'em.  And my friends all joined U.B.C.S. with me; we all know how that turned out."

            Jill swallowed, sensing that Carlos wanted to change the subject.  "Wait, back up," she cut in.  "Why go after anyone who knew Sherry?"

            "Our best theory is the Rockfort Island incident," Chris said, swallowing.  He looked away.

            Leon continued.  "The only thing we can think of is that Umbrella knew Sherry, Claire and I made it out of Raccoon City together.  Highly possible, considering we went roughly two dozen very public places before hiding.  The families of people in Raccoon City were constantly putting up "Missing" posters; I'm sure someone thought they saw Sherry and wanted a reward.  The fact that they're taking the pursuit to a higher level—"

            "They want all of us, don't they."  Claire's voice was emotionless.  "They want to kill us all and they think she might know where to find Chris and me."

            Chris gripped her shoulder.  She stiffened.  "But then, she does know, doesn't she?  She knows I was heading to Europe to find Chris… but isn't it all just stuff they already know?  They know we're in Europe; why bother with Sherry?"

            "They have no idea what she really knows, Claire, that's why," Chris said softly.  "They probably think we keep in touch, and tell her a few choice things.  They don't know what we tell her, and they're hoping it's a lot."

            "So what do we do?" Jill said, getting straight to the point.  "Relocate Sherry?"

            "I don't think so," Leon said with a frown.  "It's too risky.  More people would be able to identify her.  And it's not like Umbrella's close, anyway.  They're looking in the Raccoon area, and they're not gonna find any answers there.  We're the only ones who know she's in Canada."  Leon brightened suddenly.  "I'm going to see if I can get into Umbrella's files with our 'borrowed' codes.  I have an idea."  Leon hurried to the computer, beginning to pound on the keyboard, using the access codes they'd obtained from previous visits to Umbrella's facilities.

            "Shouldn't we at least warn Kathy?" Barry said.  "Tell her to be on her guard?"

            "It would just make her worry, Barry," Claire said.  "We covered our tracks pretty well in Sherry's case, right?"

            _"Shit!"_ Leon yelled once again.  The others leaped to their feet and clustered around the computer monitor, pushing each other to get a good view.  "I hacked into their computer.  Apparently they're still clueless on our new whereabouts—"

            "We knew that already," Claire said impatiently.  They'd discovered a means of hacking into constantly-updated files about them.  It was useful, though all it contained was files on their names, background, medical history, breaches to Umbrella's compound, and guesses as to their location.

            "Well, I found a new link on that page we never bother with, the one with our biographical information.  No idea how long it's been there.  Took a few killer passwords, so I figured it was important, and this is what I found."

            A list of over a half-dozen people popped up on the screen.  Several gasps sounded.  It was a list of close friends, marked "interrogate."  Morgan Watkins was the second on the list.

            The group all began talking at once.  Chris could only make out snippets of conversation, "No, not Damien," and "Fuck, they're after Theresa!?"  He searched the list carefully.  There.  Kyle Malcolm.  His old Air Force buddy, the one who had gone behind enemy lines with him to save their mutual friends.  He'd been court-marshaled, too, and now owned a helicopter and airplane mechanic/pilot business.  And now Umbrella had plans to torture him for Chris's whereabouts.  Great.

            "Why aren't any of our family members on this list?" Rebecca cut in through the noise.  "You said my family—"

            "Our family members are on a separate list," Leon said, scrolling up with the mouse.  "I don't know why."

            "Because you don't tell your family everything," Carlos said softly.  "You tell your best pals everything.  They'll be the ones who will know where you are."

            "Very perceptive of them," Barry spat, his face clouded with rage.  "They know we'll assume our families are liabilities, and not give them information."

            "But they came to talk to my parents," Rebecca pointed out.  "They just didn't attack them, like they did Sherry's teacher."

            "They were hoping, I guess, that they'd spill," Chris said thoughtfully.

            "It's too risky for them to bust up our parents, though," Jill interrupted.  "They can't go around tearing into the parents and second-cousins of the people who used to allege they were criminals, right?"

            "Bingo," Chris agreed.  "That's it, that's the reason."

            "So what's the plan of action?" Jill said, exchanging a grin with him.  It had been a long time since the two of them had the opportunity to try to solve something together; they worked well with each other, though.

            "Which ones have, um, already been dealt with, Leon?" Rebecca asked softly.

            "These three," Leon said, pointing out several names.  "Watkins, Jason Bordeaux, and Theresa Jeffries."

            "Shit," murmured Jill.

            "Oh, God," Barry groaned at the same time.  "Jason was a pal from the SWAT team."

            "Who's Theresa?" Carlos asked Jill.

            "My next-door neighbor.  I told her to get out of town just before Raccoon went to hell.  She did, thankfully… guess it doesn't matter now."  Jill swallowed painfully.

            "There's a few news articles attached," Leon said, looking uncomfortable.  "Theresa, um, was thought to have committed suicide, which was only mentioned in a small section, because her parents were thinking of hiring a private detective, said there was no way she'd killed herself.  Umbrella filed her obituary, too… and there's a note in here on Watkins, says she's 'no longer a threat' and 'disposal would be counter-productive,' something about it coming back on Umbrella…"

            "And Jason?"

            "He and his wife were murdered.  News article says it may have been gang-related."

            "Ha, that's a good one," Barry muttered, closing his eyes briefly.

            "So what now?" Carlos wanted to know.

            "We save the people on the list, naturally," Claire said.

            "We do?"  Rebecca looked startled.  "Just like that?"

            "We _have_ to," she said firmly.  "They're in danger because of us."

            "They're in danger because of Umbrella, Claire, not us," Carlos told her.  "It's not our fault.  And even if we get these people out of harm's way, they'll turn to others."

            "It would buy us some time, though," said Jill, staring down at the list mournfully.  "We've all agreed we can't storm Umbrella's base with that last run-through in Paris, and we could keep them pretty busy if we messed up this plan, right?  Then we could strike the base."  She smiled.  "With a few new recruits."

            "A few new recruits…"  Chris let the word roll off his tongue, savoring it.  "Recruits."  They could have more people, could grow in size, could kick twice the amount of ass…

            "Hmm.  That's not too bad of an idea," Leon said, starting to sound excited.  "There's two old friends of mine on this list, both went to the academy…"

            "Damien, I went to college with him, he's working towards becoming a biochemist for the FBI," Rebecca added eagerly.  "He's in his mid-twenties, completed the field-agent training."

            "Jenna… um… is an old, er, friend," Jill said, shifting her weight nervously.  "We, uh …"

            "Yeah?" prompted Carlos.

            "We used to burglarize homes together, alright?" Jill muttered.  "She was almost as good a lock-picker as I was, a bit better at cracking safes.  Decent shot.  Took judo."

            Chris told the others who Kyle Malcolm was, and that only left—

            "Amy Schmalzried," Claire said.  "My old college roommate."

             Claire swallowed.  Amy was more than just her roommate; she was probably Claire's closest friend.  Even worse, she'd called Amy a week ago… from the city they were currently in.  If they got that information out of Amy, they could trace her phone records.  It had been stupid of her, but they only had one car, and that day Chris and Barry had taken it to go see an arms dealer.  She'd been upset, and had just wanted to talk to an old familiar face, someone she could trust, someone from before the mess with Umbrella…

            Claire's heart ached at the sight of Amy's name.  They were going to kill her, no question about it… and maybe even find the rest of them in the process.

            She knew she should tell the others about the call to Amy, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it.  Instead, she blurted out, "Amy may be next."

            "What makes you think that?" Carlos asked with a frown.

            "That does make sense, sort of," Jill said, before Claire could think up a good answer.  "Sherry's teacher was the most recent target, right?"  Leon nodded.  "Then it makes sense for them to go after someone who knew Claire.  Leon or Chris's friends would probably be next.  I'm guessing Jenna's safe for a while, since nothing turned up when they 'talked' to Theresa."  Jill's voice turned bitter.

            Claire had to hold back a sigh of relief that Jill had thought up a good excuse for her.  She had just blurted it out, hoping the others would somehow be willing to help Amy before Amy died or gave up the information.

            Claire dug her nails into her palms, annoyed that she was thinking about the fact that Amy was a liability in the same breath as the fact that Amy was in danger.  "We have to do something," Claire said softly, trying not to clench her teeth, angry with herself and her situation.  "Amy might be an asset, too.  She's a great shot; we used to go to the shooting range together.  And she helps her uncle with his security business; she knows a few things about alarms, cameras, stuff like that."

            Chris stared at her.  He knew his sister well, and he could tell she was angry and hiding something.  He just had no idea what.

            _Trust her, Chris,_ an inner voice whispered.  _She'd never endanger the team._

            "All right, then," he said finally.  "We'll get Amy out of harm's way first.  Any objections?"

            The group was silent.  A few of them shook their heads.  "Okay.  Let's get to work."


	3. Amy

Chapter Two

Amy

            The next few days were like a blur, filled with the old sparks of adrenaline.  The team hadn't done anything true to their nature since the Rockfort incident, and they seemed to thrive on the new need for action.  There was laughter and jokes, teasing and mindless banter, all as they acquired and readied the necessary weapons, airline tickets, and plans.  Within the week, they were back in the United States, preparing their plans as they drove from an airport in New Hampshire to Claire's former university in Pennsylvania, about two hours' drive from where Raccoon City had once been.

            Chris had only visited the college a few times, so they all agreed Claire would have to go in with them, much to Chris's chagrin.  The two of them had a half-hour long argument, until finally Claire shouted that she was going to save her friend no matter what he said and that she'd survived a lot worse than a simple college, at which point Chris shut up and apologized.

            It was finally decided that Chris, Claire, Jill, and Carlos would go inside.  They weren't sure if Umbrella was on the move, so they wanted extra firepower, just in case.  As cliché as it was, they donned long black trench coats, the only thing they had that could hide shotguns and assault rifles for certain.

            An hour to the time they'd set, the group was tense once more.  They pulled over at a gas station to use the pay phone, and Claire called Amy, to make certain she was home.  It wasn't much of a big surprise when Amy answered; after all, it was a Wednesday, two weeks before final exams.

            "Hello?"

            "Amy?" Claire said.

            "Claire!  Oh, my God!  Are you okay?  When are you coming back?  Girl, why haven't you called since—"

            "Amy, listen!" Claire snapped.  "Pack some clothes, okay?"

            "What?  Why?"

            "I'll be there in an hour, and—"

            "You will!?  Awesome!  I didn't know you were in town!"

            "Amy, listen!  We think you're in trouble."

            "Who's 'we?'  Claire, this cloak-and-dagger thing really isn't your style."  A bit of static-like clicks  accompanied Amy's words.

            "Look, just trust me, okay?  Pack light.  Money, clothes.  Your life could be in danger.  I'll explain when I get there.  Lock your door, and don't let anyone in, okay?  Don't answer the phone, either.  I won't call again."

            "Claire, I—"

            "Just do it.  Now."

            Claire hung up, biting her lip, trying not to cry.  Umbrella had ruined her life, and now they were going to ruin Amy's.

            _But at least she'll live._

            Claire climbed back in the rental van Chris had rented in their dead mother's maiden name.  "How'd it go?" Chris asked gently.

            "Fine," she said peevishly.  "She's packing.  Hopefully."

            "Um, let's just go over the plan one more time?" Rebecca said cautiously, trying to play peacemaker, which she frequently did.

            "All of the doors save the front one are locked when it gets dark; there's an alarm, I think, so it wouldn't be smart to break in.  There's a night watch station just inside the front door.  Everyone has to show an ID and guests have to be picked up by a resident student," Claire recited.  "There's a silent alarm just below the desktop."

            "Wait," Carlos interrupted.  "How, exactly, did you find out there was a silent alarm?"

            She shrugged.  "I used to flirt with one of the night watch guys."

            A few smiles were cracked at that.  Claire blushed.  "Anyway, they installed a camera in the elevator after someone kicked in the door and did about two grand worth of damage.  So we've gotta take the stairs.  Amy's on the eighth floor."

            "Eighth," Jill muttered with a sigh.

            "We can lock the night watch guy in the storage room.  It's where they store the night watch desk during the day.  He has a key.  There are no bedrooms on that floor, and the offices are closed, so it's likely no one will figure it out.  Jill can diffuse the silent alarm—"

            "Cake," Jill threw in, a gleam in her eye.

            Chris grinned.  "At which point we climb eight flights of stairs, liberate Amy, unlock the storage room, and hope Mr. Security figures out how to free himself before anyone notices he's gone.  We're gone, no one the wiser."

            "I don't like it," Leon said suddenly, sighing.

            "Why not?" Claire demanded.

            "It's too simple.  Simple plans always go wrong."

            "Thanks, Leon, we all feel better now," Carlos said, rolling his eyes.

            The van pulled up in the fire lane, and Chris, Carlos, Claire, and Jill all climbed out calmly.  Chris and Barry each had a walkie-talkie clipped to their belts; Chris would let Barry know if anything went wrong, and call the van back to the building when they were on their way down.  The van drove off quietly as the four of them headed for the building.

            It was close to midnight, and the night watch guy was yawning.  Claire swallowed as they opened the glass doors and made their way up the hallway to the next set of doors.  "I know him," she whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair into a borrowed beret of Jill's self-consciously.  "His name's Derek; he was in my world literature class."  College students were the ones who usually took up the night watch positions, earning extra bucks for tuition.

            "Don't worry, you've got glasses _and _a hat," Carlos joked.  "Your disguise is twice as good as Clark Kent's, and no one figured him out, right?"

            "Ha, ha," Claire muttered sarcastically.  It was too risky for her to be recognized, but all they could find was Jill's beret and an old pair of dark sunglasses.  She hung back as they threw open the next set of double doors, and approached the night watchman's desk.

            "Are you guys here to meet someone?  Cuz I'll have to call them down to come escort you—"

            Claire almost laughed as the guy's conversational tone choked off, a look of pure shock on his face as two Remington shotguns and an AK-47 were thrust in his face.

            "Or you could just let us bend the rules a little, man," Carlos said, the same joking manner in his voice as he held his assault rifle steady.

            Derek's arm began to slowly drift under the desk.  He'd never needed to use the alarm before, save for alarm check every night—

            "Don't even think about it," Jill said coldly, thrusting the gun a little bit closer to him.

            Carlos and Jill held their guns steady, while Chris pulled out a length of rope.  "Hand over your keys, buddy, and don't try anything stupid.  We're not here to hurt you or anyone else."

            Derek swallowed and stood up, handing Chris his keys.  Claire glanced down at her feet, hoping he wouldn't recognize her.  He seemed too scared to do much more than cooperate, however; Chris tied his hands behind his back without a problem and gagged him with another length of rope, while Jill bent under the desk to put the alarm out of commission.

            They led him to the storage room around the corner, unlocked it, and thrust him inside.  "Keep working on the ropes, kid, I didn't tie them tight.  You should get free in an hour or so," Chris told him.  "Sorry about all this."

            With that, they locked the door and headed up the stairs.

            It had taken Amy a half hour of arguing with herself to do as Claire had asked.  She didn't know what the deal was, but Claire had been missing for months.  She'd been overjoyed to hear from her.  Until the phone call a few weeks ago, she'd been positive Claire was dead.  The last time she'd seen Claire, Claire had told her that her brother Chris may have been in trouble; he'd been telling the newspapers in Raccoon City that Umbrella, Inc., one of the top pharmaceutical companies in the world, was manufacturing bioorganic weapons or something, and Claire had been worried when he'd stopped calling, thinking he'd been hurt.  She'd gone to Raccoon City roughly two days before it had been wiped off the map by a government missile, and Amy had been terrified when Claire hadn't come back.  She'd just resolved herself to believing Claire was dead when she'd heard from her again.  That one phone call had lifted her spirits immensely, but now…

            "My life's not in danger," Amy told herself.  "No one has anything against me."

            It was the phrase she'd been repeating to herself over and over again, ever since Claire's most recent telephone call.  It had to be a joke; but why would Claire be joking about this sort of thing?  Why would Claire call her and…

            "Oh, God," Amy muttered, flopping on her bed and shaking her head in disbelief.  "This is just too much."

            She glanced around the room, sighing.  Not long after Claire had disappeared, someone had broken in and stolen some of Claire's stuff.  Claire had told her it was a friend of hers, Leon, who'd done it, that it was too dangerous for Claire to come back to the college.  Why, then, was she coming back now?  It didn't make sense, really.

            Amy wasn't sure what to do.  She'd packed, like Claire had asked; most of Amy's clothes had fit in a duffle bag, since she often went home to visit her family on the weekends and during holidays.  She'd tossed a few other vital items—shampoo, her toothbrush, and the like—in her book bag, telling herself it was stupid and that she'd be able to put all her stuff away when this all turned out to be a practical joke.

            The knock on her door made her yelp, startling her badly.  "Who is it?" she called, praying it was Claire at last.

            "Amy.  Open up."  It was Claire, and she sounded urgent.

            Amy flew to the door and flung it open.  There was Claire, standing with a group of three people, one of whom was her brother, all of them wearing trench coats like some freaky mafia.  Amy was overjoyed at the sight of them.  "Oh, Claire!" she shrieked, throwing her arms around her friend.  "You really _are_ okay!  I missed you so much!  What's this all—"

            "Shh!" Claire's older brother hissed, looking around in alarm.  They all backed into Amy's room, bolting it behind them.  "Are you packed?" he said gruffly.

            "Yes," she said, "but I still don't get it.  What's going on?"

            "There's no time for that," Claire told her.  "I'm sorry, but we've got to get you out of here.  For good."

            Amy stared at her for a second before finding her voice.  _"What?!_  Finals are in two weeks!  What are you talking about?  I can't just… just move!  Not now!"

            "You're gonna have to," said Chris.  "Listen, there's not much time to explain.  But some people are looking for Claire.  And we found out they're going to come here to get the information out of you."

            "So?"  Amy planted her hands on her hips.  "You didn't actually think I'd tell anyone anything, did you?"

            "That's not what I mean," Chris replied, exhaling sharply.  "They're going to kill you."

            The words froze Amy's blood.  "Wh-what?  Why?"

            "We can't explain right now—"

            Chris was interrupted as something burst through the glass of the window and the plaster in the wall next to his head shattered.  "Get down!" he shouted, diving just as another bullet pierced the wall where he'd been standing seconds before.  Several more shots were fired as the five of them hit the floor.

            Umbrella had arrived.


	4. Nothing is Ever Simple

Chapter Three

Nothing is Ever Simple

            Amy lay crushed beneath one of Claire's companions, a good-looking Hispanic guy, who'd thrown her to the ground when the gunfire had started.  "Holy shit!" she exclaimed, rolling out from beneath him.  "What do we do?!"

            "Get your stuff!" yelled the other person Claire and her brother had brought, a woman with chin-length golden-brown hair.  They waited for a break in the gunfire, and then the woman and Chris got up, firing blindly out the window.

            Shouts sounded from the rooms around them at the noise, and Amy prayed everyone was safe as she crawled on her hands and knees to the bed.  She slid into the straps on her book bag, then clutched her duffle bag tightly, grabbed her purse from where it was hanging on the bunk bed, and flung its strap across her chest.

            "Out the door!" Chris shouted, dropping back to the floor and crawling backwards as more shots started.

            He reached up and turned the knob, sliding out on his stomach.  He beckoned to Amy, who crawled towards him as Claire and the Hispanic guy got to their knees and shot out the window again.

            She hadn't even noticed the shoulder holster Claire had been wearing when she'd hugged her.  It was beyond bizarre to see Claire shooting; they'd gone to the range together, yes, but that was a lot different than being in the middle of a shoot-out and watching her best friend fire a .45 out their dormitory window.

            Claire and the guy hit the deck at the same time, then began to crawl out the door behind the woman.  Chris pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt and yelled, "Barry, trouble!  Get ready to pick us up, now!"

            Claire slammed the door shut, and they got up and started running.  A few of the girls on the floor were opening their doors, wondering what the commotion was.

            "Stay in your rooms!" Amy screamed instinctively.  "Lock your doors!"

            Amazingly enough, the whole lot of them did as they were told, a few of them shrieking at the sight of the guns in the hands of Claire's friends.  "Amy, take this!" Claire shouted, as bullets began to tear up the door behind them.  Claire handed her a nine-millimeter, which Amy took, hands shaking, and the five of them continued running for the stairs.

            The stairwell door burst open suddenly, and five people dressed in black, wearing ski masks, poured into the hall, all of them holding assault rifles.

            _Boom!_

            Claire's gun went off, making Amy jump.  She cast a startled glance at Claire and saw her taking careful aim.  The gun fired four more times.

            And just like that, all five of the guys were dead.

            Claire ejected her empty clip like a robot, automatically slamming another one in.  "Shit, the elevator's moving!  Can hold twelve of them, easy!" the Hispanic guy shouted.

            "Go, go, go, go!" Chris yelled, and they quickly stepped over the dead bodies and hurtled down the stairs.

            It was all Amy could do to concentrate on not breaking her neck as they practically flew down the steps.  All she could see was Claire, a cold glint in her eyes behind her sunglasses as she shot five people to death.

            They arrived at the first floor just as machine-gun fire started to rain down from above, shot down through the gap in the center of the staircases.  Chris barely paused as he shoved a key in the storeroom and turned it, then kept running.

            "There they are!"

            Claire hauled Amy back into the hallway before another burst of gunfire sounded.  The glass front doors around the corner shattered.  Someone shouted, "Move, move, move!" from the gunmen's direction, and, as one, Chris, Claire, and their two friends leapt around the corner and opened fire, the woman and Chris with shotguns, the Hispanic guy with an assault rifle, and Claire with her handgun.

            Screams of agony sounded; they'd hit their mark.  In the silence, footsteps could be heard pounding down the stairs.

            "Run!" Chris shouted.

            Amy forced herself not to look at what must be a pile of dead bodies as they dashed through the broken glass of the doors and out the second set of shattered glass.

            A van was waiting for them in the fire lane, the door open.  A good-looking guy about Amy's age was leaning out the sliding door, holding what looked like a Desert Eagle handgun.

            "Leon!" Claire shouted, diving up into the van beside him and reaching down to help Amy up.  Amy grabbed their hands, allowing herself to be pulled inside, then collapsing on the floor where the seat would've been.  The door slammed shut behind Chris and the other two, right before several gunshots hit the van's barely-closed door and one of the windows cracked in a spidery mess.

            "That… was… fun," said the Hispanic guy, breathing heavily.

            "Shut… up… Carlos," wheezed the woman.

            The guy called Leon looked down at the lot of them, sprawled on the floor.  "See?  Nothing is ever simple."

            The van drove off at top speed, only slowing down to the speed limit when they reached the interstate.  "No one back there," Chris said wearily.

            Amy swallowed, struggling to focus, a million questions buzzing through her head.  Judging by the names occasionally said in the van, and the vague memories she had of Claire describing her brother's work with the S.T.A.R.S. and news articles on the trouble in Raccoon, Amy began to make connections on the people in the van.  Leon was obviously the "friend" who'd broken into their dorm—though, since Claire was holding his hand, Amy wondered if they were more than that.  She remembered most of the others as S.T.A.R.S. members from Raccoon—Barry, Rebecca, and Jill, whom Claire had mentioned might end up as Chris's girl, though Jill was snuggled up against the Hispanic guy named Carlos.  Chris actually seemed closer to Rebecca; she'd joined him on the far seat in the back, patting his leg, while he smiled at her and stretched his arm along the seat behind her in a not quite possessive manner.

            No one spoke for a while, which was starting to tick Amy off, now that the initial shock was over.  The group glanced at each other—well, minus Barry, he was driving and barely looked in the rearview mirror at them, a pensive look on his face—but no one seemed to want to say anything.  Amy wanted answers, but she had no idea what to say.  Claire kept looking at her and biting her lip, then looking away.  Chris and Leon had their gaze focused on Claire worriedly.  Rebecca glancing around the group, probably waiting for someone to say something, and Carlos and Jill just had this teenager-look on their faces that said "Now is not the time to make out.  Damn."

Amy took a deep, shuddering breath.  Obviously, these people had no idea what to say any more than she did, and she was going to have to initiate the conversation.  "What… what's going on?" she said finally, feeling like an idiot.

            The group in the van glanced at each other.  Carlos shrugged.  "You've been marked for assassination, lady."

            The look on Amy's face was so startled and confused that a few of them smiled, but their grins were brief.  "Well, here goes," Chris said, leaning forward.  He began to tell her the whole story.  He ended with introductions, pointing out each member of the group in the van.

            When he finished, Amy's eyes were as wide as Coke cans.  It was too much.  "So, these people are going to hunt me down?"

            "We hope not," Jill told her gently.  "We think they'll give up on you, and move on to their next targets."

            "They're going after other people?"

            "Yes.  Five others.  Three have, um, already been dealt with," Leon said.

            "Are… are you going to rescue them too?" Amy asked.

            "Hopefully," Claire replied.  She hesitated.  "And we were hoping you'd help us."

***

_End Notes:  _Well, whatcha think?  SAY SOMETHING!!!  Praise?  Flames?  Comments?  Pizza?  Anything?  C'mon, I've got four chappies up and one review!  I'm gonna cry!


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